


Aphrodisia III

by charis2770



Series: Finding Vengeance...or is it Something Else? [19]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Anal Sex, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Multiple Partners, Oral Sex, Slash, Spanking, Yaoi, Yeah you thought aphrodisiacs were cute but this one could be deadly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:59:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charis2770/pseuds/charis2770
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A stranger bumps into Feilong in the park while he and Yoh enjoy their tea, and things which are not cute or sexy ensue. The drugs have an odd reaction and nobody knows quite what to do for Feilong while he grows sicker and sicker each day. I have seen so many sex pollen/drugged sex/aphrodisiac fics that are essentially vehicles for lots and lots of porn, and I wanted to make this one a little more serious...before getting to the porn. Shame on you, Tumblr followers! Look what you've done to poor Feilong!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aphrodisia III

It’s his own fault, really. Yoh’s not going to see it that way, but it’s so easy when they’re in Japan and all the rest of Baishe is back in China, to walk down the street beside each other and not have to look over their shoulders ALL the time. Baishe has put dogs on him a few times, but they’re never very good, and Yoh spots them before they even make it out of the airport, then Asami assigns someone to the watch dogs and they get on with enjoying their freedom. Japanese tea houses aren’t up to the same standards of his favorite ones in Hong Kong, but he still enjoys them, and they’ve found a pretty little place near a park where they can get tea made the right way and enjoy it by a koi pond with ducks and swans paddling serenely about and trees and flowers attractively arranged so that the small oasis in the rush of the city feels peaceful. He sends Yoh for a filled bun from the little open-front bakery across the park and watches the koi drift slowly about in the clear water, feeling more content than he ever remembers feeling. When his elbow is jostled and he turns to see someone running rapidly off up the street, he doesn’t think much of it. People are always in a hurry, and he hasn’t been pickpocketed, his wallet is where it should be. Yoh returns, and they finish their tea in companionable silence, nibbling the chuka-man Yoh has purchased. These are steamed buns made of yeast dough with any of a variety of fillings. Nikuman are popular in Japan, filled with pork, but sweet varieties exist as well, and Yoh has procured ones with chocolate and cream cheese filling, knowing Feilong has a shameful weakness for sweets that he doesn’t talk about very often.  He frowns at his hand when he’s about halfway through his snack, because suddenly his head feels strange.

“Y…Yoh,” he slurs with difficulty, “do these ta…taste all right to you?”

Yoh turns to him with a concerned expression that morphs immediately to alarm when he sees Feilong’s face.

“Sensei,” he exclaims, “your face is quite flushed and you’re sweating! Are you all right?”

“You know,” says Feilong indistinctly, gently sagging sideways and into the path of a jogger, “I don’t think I am.”

With a startled exclamation, the man catches him before they collide or Feilong hits the ground. Feilong shrieks in agony when the stranger’s arms encircle him, the sleeves and hem of his button-down, mandarin collared shirt rucking up so that their skin comes into contact. The stranger’s touch sends bolts of purest agony knifing through his flesh. The pain is so huge that it fills every part of him and blots out everything. Sight, sound, scent…there is nothing but pain.  Suddenly it ebbs and its absence is like purest ecstasy in comparison. He becomes aware that Yoh has yanked him out of the man’s awkward and unintentional embrace and currently has the barrel of his…ah…Feilong realizes Yoh has changed pistols. Gone is the standard Norinco model 44 that has been a Baishe standard for many years. The pistol digging a small circular indentation into the unfortunate jogger’s forehead is a Kimber 1911, unless he misses his guess.

“Yoh,” he whispers, and Yoh’s arm tightens around him, hand sliding reassuringly down Feilong’s forearm to grasp his wrist. At the moment Yoh’s fingers close around his skin, Feilong forgets everything he’d been a out to say. His back bows and his head slams into Yoh’s breastbone. “Gods,” he manages to gasp.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Did this man do something to you?” demands Yoh worriedly. Feilong’s tongue won’t obey him. The thrumming golden heat suffusing his body drowns his thoughts in pure, mindless pleasure. He is able to make a hand reach out and gently push the gun away from the hapless man who had only been trying to help. The jogger scrambles to his feet and sprints back the way he’d come. Feilong moans softly, turning his face so that he can bury it under Yoh’s chin, breathing in the scent of him at the throat. Oh he wants to bite him. Suck him down like candy, roll him around on his tongue and lick and bite and ….Hah. Ah. Hnn. He yanks his head back with a groan of loss and looks at Yoh.

“Get….Me….Home,” he gasps. Yoh helps him to his feet, and a few very tiny and not terribly helpful pieces of the puzzle fall into place. Yoh has to let go of Feilong to climb to his own feet, and when he does so, Feilong’s head clears substantially, leaving him shaking and feeling sick and flushed and dizzy and nauseated, as though he has very suddenly contracted a bad case of the flu. Then, once he’s standing, Yoh reaches down and takes Feilong’s hand to help him up. The unbearable pleasure returns the moment Yoh touches him. Feilong staggers to his feet and in doing so, falls against Yoh. His lover’s free hand goes to Feilong’s hip to steady him, then slides around his waist and up his back. In doing so, the hand slips _under_ the hem of Feilong’s shirt and the palm of his hand lies flat against Feilong’s back where the skin is damp with sweat. Feilong’s eyes roll back in his head and he presses his hips against Yoh’s body. He’s never been so hard in his life. Once again, when Yoh  lets go, to set him back on his feet and pull out his cell phone, Feilong has to stagger and lean on the little bridge railing next to the pond, because every muscle and joint in his body aches. He shivers and leans his weight on the rail as he hears Yoh make a phone call, but can’t make out who he’s talking to. Feilong is in the process of collapsing to his knees when Yoh’s arms are there again, holding up him, murmuring soft words of encouragement in his ear. He whimpers softly when Yoh helps him start to walk, because though the sick feeling is better, it isn’t gone.

“Yoh,” he gasps as they stagger towards the car they’re using from Asami’s veritable armada, an unprepossessing small civic coupe, “I n…I need…”

“What is it, Sensei?” asks Yoh in a low voice, for people are staring at them, and Yoh hates the attention.

“T-touch me,” breathes Feilong.

“I am touching you,” Yoh assures him. “I won’t let go.”

“No!” grits Feilong in frustration. “Nee…..Hah…Need your skin…on me…” Yoh’s arm and hand, this time, are outside of Feilong’s shirt and no part of their skin is in contact. Yoh frowns as he processes this, and the hand that is around Feilong’s wrist over his shoulder moves so that Yoh’s thumb brushes the soft skin on the inside of Feilong’s wrist. He moans and shudders. The arousal is instant and _insistent._ They make it to the car at last, and the moments when Yoh helps him into the passenger seat and then walks around the car to get in on the driver’s side are not fun. Every time Yoh stops touching him, Feilong feels worse, more ill, and less coherent. Yoh notices this when he sits down and puts the key in the ignition.

“It’s getting worse,” he mutters. He takes Feilong’s hand and brings it to the back of his neck. His soft hair and warm skin are heaven, just against the palm and back of Feilong’s hand. “Can you keep your hand there, Sensei? I need to drive and make a telephone call so I cannot hold your hand.”

“Yes,” whispers Feilong. He concentrates on doing just that, and is so immersed in the pleasure of touching his lover that he’s only dimly aware that Yoh is talking to Asami. When Yoh says the man’s name though, lust sinks its claws into Feilong’s gut and clenches hard.  His right hand, the one not holding on to the back of Yoh’s neck like a lifeline, reaches between his legs where he spreads his thighs as much as he can in the confines of the passenger side well. He’s so hard it actually aches when his hand presses against his cock through restricting layers of fabric. There’s a growing wet spot of the sort he hasn’t experienced since he was going through puberty. While at a traffic light, Yoh turns his head and gently tugs Feilong’s hand out of his hair to press his lips softly against his wrist.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this, Sensei,” he promises firmly, his lips tickling gently as he talks. Feilong’s eyes roll back in his head and he groans, a guttural sound of basest need. Yoh’s mouth quirks a little even though he looks very worried, and his tongue slides over Feilong’s pulse point. Feilong’s hand grips his cock through his pants and underwear and he gasps and shudders and cries out in shock when an orgasm rises up and sucks him down, his erection pulsing under his hand and releasing hot, sticky seed inside his shorts. He laughs weakly at himself, embarrassed and a little scared, because he doesn’t seem to have any control over his body at all.

Things get pretty bad after that. They arrive at the penthouse, and Asami and Akihito along with Kirishima and Suoh are in the parking garage to help get Feilong to the safety of Asami’s home. The doctor is on his way. Because he’s very strong and Feilong’s shaky, sweaty, dazed appearance is concerning, Suoh goes the expedient routs and simply picks Feilong up in his arms. Feilong shrieks again as Suoh’s hands touch him, making contact with his neck, his hands, the small of his back when his shirt rides up again, his cheek when Feilong’s head lolls against his neck. It is pain like nothing he’s ever felt before, pain like thousands of tiny knives flaying his skin. He struggles weakly in Suoh’s arms, but before the man has time to put him down, Feilong loses consciousness.

He wakes up to agony.  He’s lying in the bed in one of Asami’s spare bedrooms. There is a tube running from his arm to a bag of clear fluid hanging from a silver metal pole. There’s a nosepiece plugging his nostrils, the faintly antiseptic smell of oxygen from a tank identifying itself for what it is. Dr. Yamato sits in a chair beside the bed and is taking Feilong’s vital signs. It is his hand on Feilong’s wrist that is the source of the agony. Tears roll silently down his face as he tries to ignore the pain. Asami, Yoh and Aki are watching with concern a few feet away, and at the sight of his return to consciousness and the agonized expression, they all step closer.

“Touch me,” whimpers Feilong miserably. “Please…”

As one they reach for him, because it is what you do when your lover asks. Yoh takes his hand. Aki’s fingers worm under the blanket to close gently around his ankle, and Asami’s warm palm softly strokes his face and cups his cheek, the thumb still stroking. The efficient little doctor looks both astonished and very interested when this contact causes Feilong to moan and arch his body in bliss, whispering his thanks and begging them not to stop touching him. His exam is completed with their touch enabling Feilong to stay calm. Aki stays with him, holding his hand, while Dr. Yamato and Asami and Yoh step into the hall to discuss what’s happening. Feilong doesn’t know why, because either Yoh or Asami will tell him the truth anyway. He concentrates on the way this lovely young man who has come to feel like family to him in such a short period of time feels with his hand in Aki’s  smaller one. Aki traces Feilong’s fingers with his own, and the patterns of veins in his hands, and the lines in his palms. It isn’t enough contact to arouse Feilong beyond bearing, but it feels much better than it should. Aki’s hazel eyes dart furtively towards the door. He looks frightened.

“I’ll be fine, Ototo,” whispers Feilong hoarsely.

“Someone did this to you, drugged you. Probably trying to do like what they did to me and Asami, do you think?”

“I do think,” agrees Feilong.

“But I don’t think it went right,” says Akihito mournfully.

“Not really enjoying it a lot myself,” agrees Feilong.

Their lovers return. Feilong can hear Dr. Yamato in another  room talking on his cell phone. Asami and Yoh look solemn.

“Was the hallway really necessary?” asks Feilong a little irritably.

“Probably not,” says Asami with a small smile, “but I like to preserve the good Doctor’s illusions.”

“Tell me,” says Feilong.

“All right, but there isn’t a lot to tell yet. Your blood’s been sent to the lab to see if the compound you were given can be identified and an antidote formulated. It seems that it was supposed to be a simple aphrodisiac but it’s reacting very strangely in your body.”

“Everyone who touches me who isn’t you or Yoh or Aki makes me want to die,” admits Feilong,.

“Surely not,” protests Yoh.

“It was like every single physical pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life was visited upon my body all at the same time. Gunshot wounds, fistfights, brutal sex, whippings and canings and spankings for fun, the finger I broke four years ago, the infected dog bite when I was twenty, every splinter and stubbed toe and the appendicitis from when I was twelve.”

Yoh pales a little at this.

“I wanted to just fuck you and see if it helps. It’s all Aki and I had to do,” says Asami, his voice rough with anger and frustration, “but Yamato says it’s too risky. You’re exhibiting classic viral symptoms when we’re not touching you, so he has concerns that it’s communicable like a virus, and your heart rate is elevated as well as your blood pressure, even moreso when we touch you. He’s…” Asami stops and takes a breath, and glares at nothing in particular.

“He’s afraid intercourse or even orgasm could kill you,” whispers Yoh.

“He’s arranging for around-the-clock medical care and having all the equipment and supplies he can imagine needing delivered here as we speak,” continues Asami.

“You’ll be better soon, FeiFei,” says Aki earnestly.

 

The doctor makes them stop touching him, because his pulse and BP keep going up when they do it. The viral symptoms are awful, but his pulse rate levels out when he’s not being touched. When a member of his own personal crack medical team touches him, because they must in order to take his vital signs and administer medication, he tries not to scream. He knows it distresses them, but it’s ENORMOUS, this pain. It’ unspeakably, hideously, terrifyingly bad. They give him pain medication in his IV, but he thinks it helps them more than it helps him. It makes him foggy enough that he can only whimper and moan, as opposed to emitting bloodcurdling shrieks. He can still FEEL it though, and even morphine doesn’t touch it. It only makes him feel groggy to go with the agony.

They try to get him to eat and drink, and he tries. It isn’t that he WANTS to be difficult. Well, not this time. But nothing stays down. He’s given fluids through his IV and basic nutrients once a day through a tube passed down his throat and directly into his stomach.

He’s never alone. He tolerates the medical personnel’s presence only as long as he must, but his desolation upsets them so they’re happy enough to reside in the nearby guest room when they’re not attending to him directly. One of his lovers is with him at all times.  Often more than one, and frequently all three of them. They read to him, all three of them, because he asks. Since each of them have vastly different taste in literature, he’s having the slightly odd experience of having three different books read to him at the same time. Aki hangs around in the morning and reads him Harry Potter, and he surprises himself by enjoying it immensely. Yoh spends the afternoon and, after going over news and business from Baishe, is reading Ian Fleming’s _Dr. No._ Asami spends part of the night with him, and is reading him _The Cider House Rules._ Yoh usually comes back a few hours before dawn and sends Asami to get some rest, and often Feilong is too tired and miserable to listen anymore, so Yoh talks to him about nonsense, and he tries to doze a little with the steady, soft voice of his lover comforting him in the background.

His fever doesn’t abate, and his symptoms don’t improve. The doctor tries to recommend an actual hospital, but none of them want that. He’ll be vulnerable in the hospital, and word of his condition may leak. Asami can promise he will be safe here, and Yamato cannot say the same for Tokyo General.

The bloodwork tells them some, but not enough. The drug is apparently one of a new series of designer drugs, tailor made for a single person. This one was supposed to make ONLY Feilong desperate to fuck, and work its way out of his system once he metabolized it, a process which would, of course, have been expedited by energetic sex. The side effect that makes being touched a nightmare for him unless it is by those he cares for is _probably_ not intentional. They aren’t sure, any more than they are sure of a way to stop the illness the drug has caused. It bears some similarities to a biological weapon once being developed by the Chinese government that was supposedly scrapped due to unpredictable results. Asami’s reaction to this less-than-helpful news is not very understanding. He threatens to fire everybody in the facility if they don’t find a way to help Feilong. Yoh goes one further and threatens to KILL everyone working in the facility. They’re pretty motivated, but still not having much luck.

Feilong isn’t stupid. He knows he’s dying. Slowly, and by inches, but inevitably. Poisoned by what was supposed to be a little dirty fun. He tries not to withdraw, but he’s so tired. His body aches and he feels like he’s going to vomit ALL THE TIME and he has to look at them every day but cannot touch them. Yet he must endure the mind-blowing agony of being touched by strangers every day. At this point, he’s pretty sure he’s okay with the outcome and just wishes it would hurry. Not only does he hate and fear the horror of another person’s hands on him, but he hates the sorrow in his lovers’ eyes.

He asks Yoh to stand in as his attorney and help him amend his will. Yoh looks at him with a stricken expression on his face, then gets up without a word and leaves the room. It is late, after ten p.m., so none of the medical staff will be around until early in the morning. Feilong waits for a while, for Yoh to work through his sorrow and anger at the request, and come back. But he doesn’t. Feilong slips eventually into the odd twilight almost-sleep that is the only rest he ever gets.

The bedroom door crashing open and rebounding off the wall startles him, but he’s so befuddled by pain and illness and the drugs they give him that he’s still scrambling to sit up even a little when Asami strides up to the bedside and glares down at him.

“Fuck this,” he snarls viciously, and his hand fists in Feiong’s hospital gown, helping him the rest of the way upright, and leaning down to smash his lips into Feilong’s. Their teeth grind painfully into the soft flesh of their mouths and Feilong tastes blood. The awareness of the taste is very, very far away as a hot rush of need fills him with pleasure and longing so intense it brings tears to his eyes. Yoh and Akihito are there too, and suddenly Yoh’s hands are on his skin, at his back, untying the stupid cotton gown, and Aki takes one of his hands while he pulls tubing out of machines and unplugs things with the other. Every muscle in Feilong’s body tenses with the singing pleasure thrumming inside him at the touch of their hands and lips on him. Freed from the confines of the hospital bed Dr. Yamato has had brought in, and unclipped and plugged and connected from the various sensors and fluids and drips and machines that have been part of his life for the last couple of weeks, Feilong sighs. Asami hauls him up and into his arms, growling that this bed is too small, and he strides down the hall to his own bedroom. Feilong presses his face against Asami’s throat and shivers and whimpers in frantic joy at the touch.

He is laid down on the big bed and the ridiculous gown is drawn off of him, and Asami, Yoh and Aki slip out of their clothes, and they are careful to make sure someone is touching him at all times. He wants to weep with the relief from pain and illness, so he does, a little. Akihito laps at his nipples like a little cat, and even though Feilong’s nipples have never been THAT much of an erogenous zone, he cries out at the feel of that warm, wet tongue, and when Asami kisses him again and slides his lips to Feilong’s neck and nips at his skin, he groans desperately, and when he feels Yoh’s soft hair on his thighs and hot breath on his cock and balls, Feilong howls and comes so hard he cannot breathe, before anybody has laid a single finger on his privates. He doesn’t even try to stop them and ask why they’re doing this, when the doctor has said he thinks it would be a bad idea, because it feels so good to be touched that he doesn’t care. He’s dying anyway, so if this is going to finish him off, at least now he will go with a smile on his face.

Asami works his way behind Feilong until he supports the younger man’s torso against his own, his legs around his hips, and Feilong can feel Asami’s cock pressed against the top of the crack of his ass. His skin throbs where Asami touches him. He leans back into the embrace and sobs a little at how perfect it feels. Aki gets on his knees and kisses Feilong’s mouth over and over, whispering “Ani,” and “FeiFei,” and “Come back, I miss you,” and “Kiss me.” Yoh strokes his fingers up the insides of Feilong’s thighs and cups his heavy balls in his hand, and rolls them between his fingers, and leans down and licks them, one at a time, then licks a slow, wet stripe up Feilong’s cock, which has not softened a bit, up to the head where he stabs the tip of his tongue at the wet slit, taking the drop of Feilong’s essence that trembles there into his mouth and smiling softly, and then sucks as much of his Sensei’s cock as he can into his mouth all at once. Feilong throws his head back on Asami’s shoulders and his body arches helplessly and he shouts raggedly, repeatedly, as he comes again, harder this time, pumping hot seed down Yoh’s throat and writhing in Asami’s arms.

“Beautiful one,” whispers Asami in his ear. “Are you with us?’

“Hah…hah…ngh…yes…Sensei…ohhh Asami…oh please, don’t stop. I can’t…I don’t care if it’s…if this…I can’t die like that, alone.  Just let me…be with you, all of you…even if…”

“Shut up,” says Asami softly. “You do not have my permission to die, alone or otherwise. What is more, I don’t think you’re going to.” As he speaks, he slides a hand between their bodies and his index finger worms its way between Feilong’s ass cheeks and finds the hidden pucker of his asshole. The finger is slippery, and slides into his hole easily. Feilong groans at the sensation and his hips roll entreatingly. “A number of years ago there was an…urban legend,” continues Asami, slowly working his finger in and out. The nerve endings in his sensitive anus are sparking like mad and he mewls softly between closed lips as he listens. “There was a chemist who worked for a powerful crime syndicate, in charge not only of their meth lab and of cutting their product, but of creating new and better drugs for the world’s increasing demands for more narcotic substances to snort up their noses or inhale or shoot into their veins. He was working on a sexual enhancement drug when he heard his wife had been cheating on him with a member of the very syndicate for which he worked. He did some alteration to his formula and created a designer drug. With a drop of a person’s blood or some tears or saliva, he could bind a dose or a batch to an individual. When that person took the drug and had sex, the only person with whom he or she would be able to gain pleasure was one with whom the drugged individual was in love. Making love with someone he or she did not love would cause only pain. He’s supposed to have given it to his wife and then fucked her. Every day. Over and over.  When the listener to the story asks which reaction the wife had, the teller is supposed to smile and tell them they can decide. An entertaining story. Most believed it to be only that, though there was a rumor that it actually existed, but that due to some very terrible side effects, it was never mass produced.

“Wh…what kind of…hnn Asami, don’t stop…side effects?” gasps Feilong.

“Instead of only feeling pain when having sex with someone you didn’t love, people would feel unbearable agony when anyone they didn’t love touched them AT ALL. You’d go mad from it, they said. And…if there was no one you loved, there was no way for your body to process the drug, and you’d die.”

“And you’re only remembering this NOW?” pants Feilong, crying out as Asami slides a second finger in next to the first.

“It was many years ago, and I hadn’t heard all the rumors at the time. I recalled bits and pieces of what I HAD heard yesterday, and I’ve had Kirishima investigating to find out everything he could about it. He contacted me just a bit ago with the whole story.”

“I’m not going to die,” whispers Feilong.

“Not if we have to fuck you for three days straight,” promises Asami. “Now get up on your knees.”

Shivering, Feilong does as Asami asks, helped by Akihito and Yoh. Asami presses his buttocks apart and presses his thumbs inside the heated pucker of Fei’s hole, pulling them slowly apart until Feilong cries out, the stretch changing from burn over to pain. Bizarrely, the effects of the drug in his system overlay the ache of being opened this way with needful lust so strong he feels every moment as though he’s on the verge of an orgasm so strong it may render him entirely senseless. Asami replaces his hands with his cock, pushing impatiently at Feilong’s asshole, and Yoh puts his mouth on Feilong’s cock again, sucking eagerly and messily, and Akihito, still kissing him anxiously, gets up on his knees too and puts Feilong’s arms around his shoulders, supporting him. He so inundated with pleasure he doesn’t even know how many times he comes merely from the process of getting Asami’s thick cock pushed slowly inside his body. He quivers and gasps and moans and wants desperately to touch all of them at once, to show them how they’re making him feel. 

“Ohh,” he whispers as Asami rocks his hips slowly, pressing himself up into Feilong’s grasping, clutching hole, making them both suck in their breath. “S…so good. You’re perfect. Oh. Gods. I ca…hng…I can’t…ah. Hah. I’m going…fuck…to come again…AHH!” And he does, and Yoh’s lips curve in a rather dirty smile around his pulsing cock and Asami’s fingers dig into his hips and he growls softly, gasping at the blindingly tight squeeze of Feilong’s ass on his cock, making him join his lover in his pleasure.

He collapses against Asami’s powerful body, shuddering so hard his teeth chatter, and tries to catch his breath. The feeling of that much skin against his own still suffuses his body and brain with spine-tingling pleasure. It is, however, less mind-numbing now, and he can think a little. For the first time in two weeks, no matter what Asami has said, NOW he starts to believe that he may see the other side of this. And still be…himself. 

“Tell us what you need, Sensei,” says Yoh softly, kneeling between Feilong’s thighs, his head lowered in a submissive posture that fills Feilong suddenly with the need to remind himself and his toy who he belongs to. He’s able to be conscious, now, of what it must have meant to a man as wholly devoted, as _owned,_ as Yoh is…to be unable to touch or be touched by his Master, to be able to do nothing to help him, cast adrift among those who, while his friends, can give Yoh NOTHING of what he needs. Feilong sits up a little. It’s all right though, because their arms and legs are all tangled up and their determination that he not feel the horrible aching emptiness and debilitating illness the absence of them brings is touching to him, inasmuch as he’s able to feel anything but pure bliss. 

“My wanju,” he whispers, hands cupping Yoh’s face and gently pulling him close. He places a kiss carefully on his lover’s lips. Yoh makes a small sound in his throat, one that is a mix of joy and pain and frantic need. Just like that, the burning desire to be taken is replaced by the need to _take._ Or is being joined by it. Actually there’s just so much _need_ burning him up all over that he’s a little afraid of being consumed by it. The kiss deepens, and both of them groan softly into each other’s mouths, hands stroking and grabbing and gripping hard and tugging, and Yoh’s cock is so hard it quivers with eagerness and Feilong’s has yet to STOP being hard since Asami picked him up and bought him here. Sensing his need, Asami slides out from behind him and pulls Aki into his arms and Feilong is aware  that the two of them are making out like teenagers now on the other side of the bed and watching him and Yoh avidly and he really hopes Yoh doesn’t mind because he certainly doesn’t and couldn’t bring himself to stop now anyway. Yoh, bless him, either doesn’t notice or really doesn’t care because when Feilong tugs his head back to expose the long column of his throat and bites him while taking Yoh’s erection in his hand and giving it a long, slow stroke, Yoh gasps out his name and trembles.

“Ah….hah….F-feilong-Sensei,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire and emotion, “ oh gods, I need you. Please. Please, oh please. Touch me. I….hnn…I need you so much…oh, more, please…take me, fuck me…”

Feilong breaks the kiss and pushes Yoh onto his back on the bed, looking around for the little jar of incredibly expensive lube Asami gets from some ancient apothecary somewhere that he guards like a national secret. Which is probably justified, because a small dab of the stuff is enough to survive even the longest and most brutal fuck and there is something in it that softens and relaxes and lends the tiniest little tingle of warmth in such a way that it heightens sensation without overtaking the proceedings so that IT holds center stage. It’s probably got illegal things in it but Feilong couldn’t possibly care less. Asami thrusts it into his hand, the lid already unscrewed. Feilong mutters his thanks and dips his index finger into it, the slick unguent like silk to his touch. He leans down and flicks the tip of his tongue over Yoh’s nipples while he reaches between his legs. Yoh spreads them wider, obligingly, and lifts his hips, while he gasps and whimpers softly at the attention paid to his sensitive nipples. Feilong nips and nibbles and sucks each little nub deeply, while his finger strokes softly over the small pucker of his lover’s asshole. He feels it twitch and open slightly under his fingertip, and presses no more than the pad of his finger into the yielding flesh. Yoh pushes against him, trying for deeper penetration, and Feilong slaps him suddenly and sharply on the inner thigh. This makes them both gasp, Yoh at the sudden small pain and Feilong in shock at what the impact does to him, the sting in his palm ripping through his nerve endings like nothing except a powerful climax usually does. He turns his head and lays his cheek on Yoh’s stomach, staring wide-eyed at Asami. 

“C…could you do something for me…,” he breathes, sliding his finger all the way to the third knuckle up Yoh’s grasping hole.

“Probably almost anything,” says Asami seriously. 

“just…gods, Yoh, you’re so tight, it’s going to feel so good to fuck you…ungh…could you just…smack me one time? I wa….HAH! OH. Oh FUCK,” he cries as Asami accommodates him before he can finish speaking, the palm of his hand cracking down on Feilong’s ass where he lays between Yoh’s widespread legs. The burn of the slap flares white hot in his brain, his body convulsing at little as his cock jerks and he bites his lip and tries hard not to come. Writhing, he adds a second finger to Yoh’s hole and stretches him open. He’s being a little rough, and knows it, but he can’t help it. He needs to be inside this man’s body RIGHT NOW and it is only because he knows it would hurt Yoh rather a lot, and not in a good way, that he’s able to make himself take the time to prepare him a little.

“Enough,” pants Yoh, writhing. “I want…it’s been so long…seemed like a lifetime…just fuck me. Now, do it now, I’m ready. I don’t care!”

Feilong swallows thickly around the claws of lust digging into his throat and lungs and belly and cock.

“I usually take more time,” he mutters, but he’s withdrawing his fingers and dipping into the little blue glass jar and smoothing the satiny stuff onto his cock and lifting Yoh’s legs and pushing them back and exposing his cheeks and hole even as he protests.

“I’m ready enough,” says Yoh shortly, arching his hips, hands reaching for Feilong. “Just…now. Oh, now.”

The sensation of pressing slowly inside of Yoh’s tight, soft hole makes Feilong grit his teeth and hiss, closing his eyes tighty and concentrating on NOT spilling into him before he’s even all the way inside.The hand he’s not using to hold himself up drifts to Yoh’s face to softly trace the lines and planes of his jaw and cheekbones, his forehead and his lips, brushing those too-long bangs out of his face so he can see Yoh’s eyes, fathomless and dark, shining at him as if he is the only person in the world.

“T…ah…tell me if I hurt you,” he whispers, and rolls his hips a little to nudge deeper into the warmth of his lover’s body.

“Hurt me?” breathes Yoh incredulously. “I th…ng…thought I would lose you. You’re with me…ah…in me. _Nothing_ hurts, Sensei. Just…oh…oh… _fuck_ …just HURRY. I’m going to c-come t-too soon. Ohh…”

Because Feilong’s own sensory response to pain and pleasure is even MORE confused than usual right now, he has to depend on Yoh to be telling him the truth. But Yoh doesn’t pretend for him, or take more than he can if he thinks Feilong doesn’t want to be bothered with his personal comfort. He’d demanded that Yoh always tell him if what he gave him was too much, and he depends on that now. If being touched is exquisite, having his cock gripped by the unbearably soft warmth of Yoh’s body is positively insane. He knows he’s making inhuman sounds in the back of his throat as he allows himself the luxury of thrusting his cock balls-deep on the next go, feeling Yoh’s asshole clench and quiver around him, feeling Yoh’s fingers grip his arms. Yoh throws his head back, eyes closed tight, crying out with what Feilong deeply hopes is pleasure. He loses himself in pounding in and out of this marvelous man’s toned, dangerous body.

“The idea,” purrs a voice in his ear, startling him, “is to overload the drug’s ability to overwhelm your senses. In other words, we must throw so much sensation at you that we burn it out of you.” He opens his eyes and turns his head to meet Asami’s hot amber gaze. Holding the look, Asami slaps Feilong’s ass again. He shouts at the wicked lance of heat stabs into his gut.  As Asami spanks him slowly and steadily, Akihito reaches between his legs and strokes his balls. Feilong howls and pumps his orgasm into Yoh’s body. When he comes, he pauses, but Asami doesn’t stop, and neither does Akihito, and after a moment when he realizes he’s still hard as a rock, he laughs a little wildly and just keeps fucking. Yoh moans, and Feilong thinks it’s going to be fine, because Yoh hasn’t come yet and apparently getting off (again) isn’t going to present any kind of a problem for Feilong because he can already feel the pleasure pooling in his belly _again._ His ass is on fire. Asami’s not pulling the slaps one bit, and the heat from the spanks is driving him mad. The gentle, tender little touches and strokes of Aki’s slender fingers on his balls makes him want to purr. He wonders briefly if anybody ever went insane from sensory overload. He doesn’t know if his body can bear this much pleasure. The slide of skin, its texture and scent, the tickle of a drop of sweat rolling down his spine, the prickle of the sting in his backside, the grip and tug of the tight rings of muscle sucking his cock down into heat that feels like it’s melting around him…it is all exquisite and intense and perfect. He becomes aware he’s whispering in Cantonese, words that are part frantic cursing and part fervent prayer.

After a few minutes of this, Asami stops smacking him, and though Feilong is aware that the other man is moving, he’s too overwhelmed by sensation to pay a lot of attention to it, until he feels his ass cheeks pressed open and Asami’s cock presses between them and against his hole.

“If you’re going to say no, you have about three seconds,” whispers Asami, pausing. Feilong can only moan and go very still, looking a question at Yoh.

“Anything you need, Sensei,” gasps Yoh, steadfastly looking him in the eye and not seeming embarrassed or awkward at all. Asami slams his cock inside Feilong to the hilt and the question becomes moot. He’s already been fucked once, so there’s only a little burn, but Asami’s skill is such that he angles the thrust perfectly the grind across Feilong’s prostate and he shrieks at the searing feel, flashes of white obscuring his vision. He lets Asami set the pace, because all he’s capable of now is wallowing in the feelings drowning him in purest passion. Aki lays down on his side, full-length, and Feilong is aware on the vaguest of levels that he is slowly jerking himself off, staring at the three of them in avid amazement. Both Asami and Feilong hiss through their teeth when Akihito’s gentle fingers reach between their legs to stroke and tease and touch their balls, to carefully feel the stretched rim of Feilong’s hole around Asami’s plunging cock.

“Oh,” whispers Aki, “you’re so…hnn…so f-fucking hot.”

He hears Aki’s choked gasp and glances at him again to see that Asami has replaced Akihito’s hand with his own, without losing the rhythm of his punishing strokes slamming into Feilong’s body. He gives himself over wholly to the sensations of his body, the thrill of pain when Asami rams deep inside him, the sweet, soft touch of Aki’s fingers, the tight, velvet embrace of Yoh’s body gripping his cock so tightly it steals the breath from his body. It would be enough to drown a sane man. Feilong is far from sane just now. The drug which has been killing his body slowly over the past seeming multitude of days takes every slide and stroke, each brush of skin and every kiss and thrust and caress and turns them all into pleasure so all-encompassing he care scarcely breathe amidst the bombardment of passion on his skin and in his head and in the swell of the beating of his heart. It feels as though it will hammer its way out of his chest, shattering his ribcage and sternum like kindling. Gray spots form at the edges of his vision and he remembers Dr. Yamato’s warning that the elevation of his heart rate during sex might kill him, the reason for his moratorium against touching the patient. Feilong gasps and moans softly, unable to suck enough oxygen into his lungs to cry out any louder. He feels his balls draw tight against his body, his cock swelling inside Yoh’s body as his beloved toy arches against him and accepts the brutal pounding Asami’s assault on Feilong’s body forces upon Yoh’s as well.

“It’s all right,” he thinks to himself. “I never expected to live to be an old man…although I would have enjoyed growing old with these men…” He feels Yoh’s asshole clench around him, hears Akihito’s soft little gasps and cries of impending passion, feels Asami’s rhythm falter just as his own pleasure reaches a height he can no longer bear. He struggles to get enough air into his laboring lungs to speak, fights the rising tide of orgasm, longs futilely to say one last thing, to gasp or even to whisper, but he cannot, and so his lips form the words silently. No one hears him, or sees. Yoh’s eyes are closed as he reaches his peak and Feilong feels his seed warm between their bodies, and Akihito’s eyes are on his own hand and the sight of Asami’s cock fucking into Feilong’s body as the boy cries out and Feilong feels the spatter of his completion on his hip and thigh, and of course Asami is behind him and cannot see. Feilong comes and comes inside the welcoming heat of Yoh’s body, his heart bursting inside his chest, vision tunneling to a fine point of light that makes them all seem too far away to touch, and he mouths the words he wishes he could have said.

“I love you.”

Then all goes dark.

*************************************************************************************

 

It is with some relief that he realizes after an unknown amount of time has passed, that he has not died after all, but passed completely the fuck out from the intensity of the sensations flooding his body and mind. Now he feels cool sheets against his skin, and fingers on his forehead, gently stroking his hair, and hands in each of his own. It all feels rather nice. He feels coddled and fussed over and thinks perhaps he could wallow in the attention for the rest of the day. It is at this point that he realizes the fingers and hands are not filling his senses with either crippling agony or helpless passion. Slowly, he opens his eyes and turns his head a little from one side to the other to see all three of the faces which have imprinted themselves upon his heart, looking down on him with varying degrees of concern. He smiles a little, and the worry vanishes, replaced by grins and a mutter of gratitude or two.

“It’s gone,” he whispers, struggling a little to sit up, mainly because Yoh and Akihito are holding his hands. “Oh thank the gods, It’s gone!”

“I was afraid we had lost you, Sensei,” says Yoh softly, beaming at him and gripping his hand so tightly it hurts a little.

“You’re back,” cries Aki, his sweet face alight with happiness.

“I knew it would work,” says Asami smugly, helping Feilong prop himself up by leaning in behind him and offering his own body as a bolster.  Akihito rolls his eyes and Yoh glares daggers at Asami for risking Feilong’s life (although the venom in the glance is muted somewhat by the fact that Yoh also cannot stop smiling at Feilong for more than a second or two).

“So,” says Feilong, craning his neck a little to look over his shoulder at Asami. “This drug? The one in the urban legend? The one that wasn’t supposed to really exist?”

“Hm?” asks Asami, smiling gently at him.

“What was it called?”

Asami’s smile vanishes and he looks, for a moment, embarrassed and discomfited. Propped against his powerful frame, Feilong would almost say it is as if Asami squirms uncomfortably before he finally answers.

“It’s called,” he says reluctantly, “True Love’s Kiss.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had a computer crash while writing this, but thankfully it had autosaved beforehand so I didn't lose anything. The part I then merged into the regular document from the autosave persists in showing up in a different color and underlined, and I can't for the life of me figure out how to make it look normal, so I apologize. The colored, underlined section of text is just me not knowing squat about computers other than how to turn them on and off!


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